


Not Like Tonight

by bold_seer



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ficlet, M/M, Power Dynamics, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 09:12:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19422949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bold_seer/pseuds/bold_seer
Summary: “I need the money. Rupees, dollars, whatever you have.”





	Not Like Tonight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [days4daisy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/gifts).



It was the wrong season, autumn shifting into winter. A time to visit, not stay. But there were always those who had nowhere else to go. People who’d run away from their problems. Instead of finding a solution, finding themselves, they’d lost what little they had. With no one to pay for a ticket back home, they were stuck in this half-existence. Shadows in the street. Thieves in the night.

There was always another way, the one thing that was left.

“Look,” said the man - pale, white, American, disheveled appearance, with a kind of frailty - feeling Mordo’s eyes on him. Determined not to lose his interest. “I need the money. Rupees, dollars, whatever you have.” Voice unsteady. He wasn’t used to it. Not begging for money, begging for anything. “You can, uh. Do what you.” Offering too much and promising too little, no caution at all. A novice at the trade. But, Mordo thought, desperate enough to follow through. “Please.”

Mordo considered. It had been so long. Although he channelled his rage and frustration into better goals, noble and selfless, his impulses flickered to the surface - some of them dark. The desire never left him. It was urging him to take his pleasure where it could easily be found. At a cost.

He wasn’t a good man. He’d done worse. More harm, to people less willing. Even less.

He was only a man, not a monk or a saint. Men had needs. That was how the world went around, giving and taking.

“Not here,” Mordo decided. He followed Mordo into the alley. In silent compliance, two steps behind. Then stopped. Uncertain if he was supposed to do something. Wait for further instructions. Ask Mordo for what he was due. Mordo had no answers, head full of doubts. Almost harshly, he demanded, “What are you doing?”

“Looking for Shangri-La,” the man muttered. Careless, short-sighted sarcasm that would get him into trouble. He was selling his body on the street, but still arrogant enough to think he was above it, in control. It was infuriating. Mordo could show him trouble and out of control. Something held him back. Perhaps the tired, disillusioned way he looked at Mordo, when he said, “This is where you tell me to get down on my knees. Maybe face the wall.”

He was so close, and yet he didn’t see. Mordo’s heart beat faster. The man the Ancient One had told him about. Mordo touched his cheek, and he froze. More in surprise than fear, but he resembled a rabbit, caught. Mordo ran a finger down his cheekbone. Reached his lips, pushing them open, wetting the tip. Held his breath. To go on? Strange was gazing at him in wonder, eyes blue and luminous. Let go.

Mordo wouldn’t be kind. A man could only change his nature so far, hide and hold back some. Not remake himself completely, inside out. However prepared Strange was, he wouldn’t enjoy it. Unless Mordo made him. Forced him to feel pleasure, unkind mercy. But he didn’t want to hurt Strange.

Strange was silent, eyes turned downwards. Focused on his hands, which were shaking. His hair, too long, fell on his face. _You have no idea_ , Mordo thought. Reached out, brushing away a few strands. He murmured, “I’ll give it to you.”


End file.
